


Kiss Me Now

by ElphabaInTheTARDIS



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, F/M, H.G. is far too much fun to write while drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElphabaInTheTARDIS/pseuds/ElphabaInTheTARDIS
Summary: "Kiss me now, my knees are weak, my hands they shake like moonlight"--Danny Schmidt, Kiss Me NowA slightly intoxicated inventor returns to the attic one night. Lenore is highly amused.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea after I wrote One Last Drink and it wouldn't leave me alone. I had the entire thing written about a week ago and then angsted over a title for another week. This is what I've settled on.

It wasn’t until H.G. returned back to the attic drunk a second time that she realized that she maybe needed to have a conversation about him about how as a ghost he never had to actually be drunk. One of the many joys of being a ghost and all. Eat as much food as you want without gaining weight, never have to sleep, be able to drink as much alcohol as you want without getting drunk.

(Unless you wanted to. Living with Edgar had taught her that sometimes she needed a drink to deal with the consistent emo brooding.)

(She realized that she might also need to have a conversation with Hemingway about this. The man didn’t understand limits. To like, anything. Which was funny when it was directed at Edgar. Less so when she has a drunken nerd on her hands.)

“Lenore!” he exclaimed upon bursting into the attic. And by bursting, he had totally stumbled up the stairs in the loudest way possible and Lenore was 95% sure that Annabel or Edgar would be up any second to see what the commotion was. Lenore quirked an eyebrow at his enthusiasm. This was…new.

As H.G. opened his mouth to start shouting again, Lenore did the only thing any sensible Lady Ghost would do.  She got up from where she was sitting and put her hand over his mouth in a totally mature and not-at-all childish way and shushed him.

“Like…I’m happy you’re happy, but I swear to GOD if you wake up Edgar and I have to hear him talk about the mysteries of the night and how life continues to go on even when one isn’t experiencing it first-hand, I will literally die. Again.” She gave H.G. what she hoped was a stern look.

He started giggling. So apparently _that_ didn’t work like she’d intended.

She mentally noted to haunt Hemingway in the creepiest way possible as payback for this one. Drunk H.G. was adorable, it was true. But she wasn’t sure how to handle a…giggling H.G.? She didn’t even know he was capable of giggling.

Or apparently, as she felt one of his hands now tracing itself down her back, capable of being…handsy? Was that even a _word?_ And why on earth would that cause a shiver down her back? She’s a Lady Ghost™. This wasn’t dignified _or_ cool.

(Or so she told herself. She didn’t want to give H.G. the upper hand right now. She’d never hear the end of it.)

She used her free hand (since she was still, of course, keeping H.G. quiet with the other) to grab his hand from where it had come to rest on the small of her back and gave him a look that she hoped looked mildly threatening.

Apparently not as threatening as she’d hoped as she felt his other hand replace the one she had snatched away. She rolled her eyes. Apparently he was going to be _impossible_ tonight. Giving him a look that she hoped spoke volumes, she removed her other hand from his mouth and grabbed his other hand before he could get much farther.

The sad look that overtook his face made Lenore almost regret her decision. Followed by a look of renewed determination that Lenore had the briefest moment to process before H.G. leaned forward and kissed her, pulling her towards him as best as he could with their hands now awkwardly squished between them. Lenore’s grip on his hands tightened as she found herself kissing him back, forgetting her previous state of annoyance. The kiss was not the first they’d shared, of course, but the rest of them had been more…restrained? Kissing H.G. always felt like trying to unravel a mystery that he kept hidden just below the surface. But now…now it felt like one of those fairytale stories Annabel was always reading, full of warmth and passion.

Lenore wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t super into it.

She broke the kiss, resting her forehead against his, feeling a bit breathless (well, as breathless as a ghost can be). She found that she forgot that she didn’t need to actually _breathe_ sometimes when H.G. was involved. It was as if her body somehow remembered how to be _alive_ when he was around her. If it didn’t thrill her as much as it did she would totally be alarmed by it.

Totally.

Maybe.

Not really.

H.G. found that he was feeling quite bold on this night. It seemed that now that he had been imbued with “liquid courage” as Ernest had called it, his actions seemed to be the most logical course of action. Kissing Lenore, after all, was one of his favorite activities, after inventing and creating, of course. But as the time had passed spent with her he was starting to reconsider the order of his list of priorities with Lenore moving ever-closer to the top of the list. There had been a time in his life where such a reordering of things would have caused panic and anxiety to set in, but he found that when it concerned his beautiful Lady Ghost that making such exceptions and accommodations in his lists became second nature. It was as if she had been there all along, always a part of his constant stream of thoughts always parading through his brain.

His actions were bolstered by Lenore’s reactions and he found his brain once again calculating and measuring everything happening. He felt Lenore’s hands tighten around his arms, he felt the shiver that had coursed through her body when he had touched her. He felt the momentary loss as she broke their kiss, but smiled as she rested her forehead against his. How he wished in that moment that he was one of those romantic poets that he so despised. Maybe then he could have the words to describe exactly how beautiful she was and exactly what she meant to him.

Instead, he found himself babbling his constant stream of consciousness that seemed to always come out whenever he was in her presence.

“I…I do believe that I’ve had a _bit_ too much to drink…but I think, well that is, I _know_ that… well…you’re the most beautiful person I have ever had the fortune to know and be with and… and I really do want to… t-to show you my newest invention. Well, more of an idea really. You see I came up with it whilst Ernest and I were playing what…w-what I believe he called a “drinking game” and you…”

Lenore rolled her eyes again at her drunken babbling nerd and leaned in to kiss him once more.

“More kissing, less talking.”

 H.G. smiled. "As you wish, my dear Lenore."


End file.
